


Proof of the Man

by Terene



Category: Tales of Nowhere (Podcast)
Genre: A little bit of Sap, A little bit of angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, M/M, Temporary Character Death, mild spoilers through s1e95
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terene/pseuds/Terene
Summary: Its unexpected presence gripped Issac’s chest like a vise, unprepared as he was for a physical reminder—tangible proof of the man who had made Issac feel things he’d never truly thought he’d feel, the only man who’d ever made Issac thinkwhat ifandmaybe.
Relationships: Issac Wexler/Xavier Hondo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Proof of the Man

**1.**

It was there when he returned to his room, weary from two funerals and travel and worry over his sister. There it sat on his desk, innocently enough, just a gleam of metal that caught his eye as he stepped forward, and he froze as he realized what it was.

Xavier’s badge.

Its unexpected presence gripped Issac’s chest like a vise, unprepared as he was for a physical reminder—tangible proof of the man who had made Issac feel things he’d never truly thought he’d feel, the only man who’d ever made Issac think _what if_ and _maybe._

It was proof of the man Issac had watched take a bullet for him, whose lifeblood had splattered Issac’s clothes, Issac’s hands, Issac’s face. The man, lonely in life, who now lay in a lonely grave, the lone body in a lonely cemetery in a lonely corner of the multiverse.

It was proof of the man who wouldn’t be dead if he’d never met Issac, if he’d never met Issac’s team.

Issac hadn’t been able to give him his life back, hadn’t been able to give him a multiverse of possibility, hadn’t been able to give him any of his _what-ifs_ or his _maybes—_ and now, he hadn’t even been able to give him back this one small possession.

This arrogantly benevolent place, in its infinite know-it-all wisdom, must have thought Issac would want to keep the badge. Nowhere must have taken it from where Issac had placed it on the coffin, stealing from the dead to . . . what? Make Issac happy? Make his stay more comfortable?

Well, he wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t comfortable. He couldn’t bear to look at it. It did nothing to soothe his grief, and it would do nothing to help him move on when the time for grief was over.

The clench of cold sorrow blossomed to hot anger, and for a split second, Issac wanted to throw the offending object across the room. Would the soft silver bend and dent? Issac wouldn’t risk it, and the impulse passed as quickly as it came.

He unfroze then, determined to stash it somewhere out of sight, or better yet, to take it to Hondo. Hondo might like to keep it. But the moment Issac’s fist closed around the cool metal, his throat closed with the threat of a sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears.

The loss was still fresh, and it wasn’t fair, because he didn’t have time for tears. He needed to be at his best, especially now when his sister and his unborn nephew were missing and in danger, when the team had barely begun to unravel the evil plot in which Sarah and her child were pawns.

But maybe one night would be okay. Maybe he could give himself this one night to mourn. Tomorrow, he could bury his feelings and bury himself in work and pretend like he’d moved on until one day it wasn’t pretend anymore.

Issac opened his fist, finally allowing himself to look at the badge. It lay there in his hand, sparkling with sweat from his tight grip, and the press of its edge had left a curved divot in the meat of his palm. It was a simple thing of rudimentary workmanship, a star inscribed in a circle with only the title of the office it represented written upon it. Its surface looked somewhat worn as though it had been polished many times with pride, but bits of dirt clung stubbornly to its crevices, the unavoidable grime of wilderness travel.

Issac stared at the badge for a long minute until finally a tear fell and splashed on the lightly tarnished surface. The droplet pooled in one of the letters of the word “TEXAS” and dislodged a fleck of dirt, and Issac noticed that impossibly, ironically, _mockingly,_ the letter baptized by his grief was “X.”

Somehow, that was the final straw needed for his tears to flow freely, and Issac let it happen. He rode the waves of his sorrow over what might have been until at last he fell asleep, badge still clutched in his hand.

In the morning, Issac tucked the badge away in the back of his desk drawer, and then he prepared to face the day. He washed the tear stains from his face, he put on fresh clothes, and he hardened his heart. He didn’t see the badge again until another world later.

**2.**

It was there when he crouched in Bubda’s little room in the vents, weary from recent battle and current danger and worry for his friends. It sat there, casually enough, half-hidden beneath the rest of the goblin’s contraband. Its gleam caught his eye, but he might not have noticed it among the myriad of shiny trinkets if he hadn’t felt a spark of familiarity that brought a name to his mind, a name he’d tried not to think recently lest it compromise his focus on the mission.

Xavier’s name.

Issac was surprised the others hadn’t noticed the badge among Bubda’s stolen goods—especially Hondo, who knew the sight of it well since it looked just like his own. But all of them had much on their minds, and Hondo was distracted by the photo Bubda had swiped of Hondo’s children who weren’t actually his children.

What strange lives they led, and what conflicting emotions must Hondo have felt! Being thrust into fake lives was one thing, but to take over the very real life of an alternate version of yourself, however briefly, cannot leave you emotionally unaffected. It was beyond the scope of what a person could be expected to endure. People were not meant to experience such anomalies.

Issac had spent much of his time in Kirin’s world in dread of alternate versions—specifically, an alternate version of a certain man, the man who had made Issac feel things he’d never truly thought he’d feel, the only man who’d ever made Issac think _what if_ and _maybe._ (They’d gotten _never_ instead.)

The possibility of running into an alternate version was a real one; it had happened with others the team had met, after all. What would Issac do if he encountered one? How would it feel to set eyes on someone with Xavier’s name, Xavier’s face, his eyes, his smile—Xavier’s everything that didn’t matter and nothing that did?

It would be no good. It wouldn’t be the same. Even if Issac felt the same connection, the same pull, how would he ever be able to trust that his feelings were genuine? How could he be sure that his heart wouldn’t be playing him for a fool, finding him a convincing substitute on whom to confer these untethered emotions?

Issac didn’t want answers to those questions, not now, not ever.

So, he’d tried not to think of another (wrong, false) Xavier for fear of summoning him. Yet, every clack of a booted foot entering a room behind him had made his stomach clench. Every sight of the back of a tall figure with dark hair and broad shoulders seen in his periphery had made his breath catch. They’d all been false alarms, but one day they might not be, and Issac was bracing himself to act indifferent when he would be anything but.

One day they might not be, that is, if Nowhere survived this takeover and the Infiniteers could resume their work. Issac shook himself out of his momentary distraction and tried to reengage with the planning. But before they moved on, while the others were focused on the discussion and not looking, Issac reached into the goblin’s trove and retrieved the badge. Someone should keep it, and that someone wasn’t Bubda. It might as well be Issac.

Maybe it _should_ be Issac. It was proof, after all, of the man who had taken a bullet to save Issac’s life. Maybe Issac owed it to him to save this one item that had belonged to him.

Issac had recoiled from proof before, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe forgetting wasn’t a prerequisite for moving on.

He started to pocket it, but on an impulse, he slipped his hand inside the breast of his jacket and pinned it there instead, the inverse of how Xavier had worn it. It would be safer there, he told himself, and he didn’t give it further thought.

**3.**

It was there when he returned from his vision quest, invigorated by cosmic powers and impossible reunions and fresh starts. There it was, pinned to the inside of his jacket just like it had been when he had last left Nowhere. He noticed it when it dug into his ribs from the press of their chests together when strong arms embraced him.

Xavier’s arms.

Issac supposed he’d had the badge all along; he saw no reason it wouldn’t have triggered with him to Thayne’s world, but perhaps it had been translated like the rest of his things. Oddly, he couldn’t say for sure, but so much had happened that perhaps it wasn’t so odd after all.

Issac had had plenty to distract him, not least of which was the return (resurrection, restoration) of the man who had made Issac feel things he’d never truly thought he’d feel, the only man who’d ever made Issac think _what if_ and _maybe._

Issac had plenty to distract him now too, like the man whose lips tasted of the salty sea breeze, the man who broke away for a moment to grant Issac the warmth of his smile, the softness of his gaze.

The road to this moment had been anything but smooth, but that was behind them, and they were now here, and Issac had nowhere he’d rather be. Soon enough, he’d have places he’d want to be and places he didn’t want to be but had to be, but for now, they had this moment. They’d earned this moment.

They’d talked for a while, sitting there on the beach, leaning against a tree with their shoulders brushing. Issac had talked about his father, and Xavier hadn’t talked about his, but that was a subject better left for another time. More words would need to be said, more apologies and more promises. More hurts would need to be healed, but they could deal with that later, if they survived what was coming.

They’d made out some more too—a lot, in fact. They had plenty of tension to resolve, after all. Now might not be the time or place for anything further, but Issac wasn’t about to let this be another missed opportunity for some good ol’ first-base action.

But the badge jabbed him again, and he broke off their kiss to unzip his jacket and reach inside.

Xavier just looked at him, puzzled, a little dazed, and appealingly tousled from Issac’s fingers running through his hair. His hat had fallen off long before, and it lay forgotten nearby, no doubt full of sand by now.

“I just remembered I’ve got something that belongs to you,” Issac explained as he unpinned the badge. “Thought you might want it back.” 

Issac held out his hand, and Xavier chuckled with disbelief to see the badge, his old badge, resting in the proffered palm. “How in the world did you—well, I guess I know how, but you really kept it with you this whole time?”

“Not on me,” Issac clarified, feeling vaguely embarrassed. “Not the whole time, anyway. But yeah, I kept it.”

Xavier took the badge, his expression inscrutable. “Never thought I’d lay eyes on this again,” he mused, turning it over and testing its weight in his hand. “I thought it was kinda weird that it wasn’t with me when I woke up in Now Here. I was wearing the same clothes I’d been wearing when I died, or ones just like them, and all the rest of my things were with me. I thought maybe it wasn’t there because it wasn’t really mine anymore, since I’d lost the right to wear it. ‘Least that’s what that wanted poster said.”

“It fell out of your pocket when, well, you know.”

“That would explain it.”

“I picked it up. I knew how much it meant to you, how hard you’d worked to earn it. It didn’t seem right to leave it lying there.”

“That was mighty thoughtful of you, Issac. It did mean somethin’ to me, but to be honest, it means even more that you knew that and saved it for me.”

Issac couldn’t think how to respond to that in kind, so he said instead, “I actually placed it on your casket at the funeral, but Nowhere had other ideas, apparently. It was in my room when I got back. I couldn’t, um, I couldn’t look at it for a while, so I had it in a drawer. But then Nowhere got taken over, and we were hiding, and I saw it in Bubda’s vent because apparently he’s a kleptomaniac, and I was worried we’d lose everything, so—”

Issac cut off his rambling explanation when he noticed Xavier was looking at him like Issac had gone full Malkavian again. “Never mind all that. Point is, I grabbed it, and it’s been with me since.”

Xavier just nodded, and he resumed contemplating the badge.

“Listen,” said Issac, “I don’t pretend to know much about Texas Rangers, but I’m confident that no one has more right to wear this than you, wanted poster be damned.”

“Maybe,” said Xavier. “But I ain’t the same person I was then. I’ve changed.”

“You’re a damn hero. Were then, are now.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad change.”

“I’ve changed too,” said Issac. “We all have.”

“I reckon that’s true. But it hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.” Xavier seemed to decide something then, and his shoulders straightened as he held the badge back out, offering it to Issac. “Look, you’ve held onto it this long, and if you want it, I’d be mighty honored if you’d keep it.”

“You sure?” Issac asked softly, knowing full well the layers of meaning in the gesture.

“I’m sure,” said Xavier, and he grinned again at last. “Hang on to it, as proof of how you made a handsome cowboy fall for you.”

Issac laughed, and he took the badge, and he kissed him again.

It was there when they walked hand-in-hand back to the lab to meet up with the others. It was there when Issac dropped their hand-hold, not because he was embarrassed but because the others would tease them anyway, and he didn’t want to give them a freebie on principle.

There it was, pinned inside Issac’s jacket where it would stay. It was proof of the man he had lost, the man who had been returned to him, the man who had been given a multiverse of possibility and still, despite everything, wanted only Issac.

Issac needed no proof now, because he had the man himself. They had each other’s _what ifs_ and _maybes_ that, despite everything they still had to face, were feeling with each passing moment more like _whens_ and _for sures._ Still, he’d keep the badge, because if nothing else, it was proof of the strange and twisted road that had led them back to each other.


End file.
